


The Dragon and the Twin Trials

by inkstiel (Theconsultingdetective)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha!Dean, Dragon!Cas, Fantasy, Knotting, dragon!dean, fairytale, mythical creatures, omega!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theconsultingdetective/pseuds/inkstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean meets a charming young omega by chance, he knows he has to have him. But what he doesn't realise is that the omega has an exacting list of requirements--and that he's not exactly the usual omega.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

The prince’s sword grated a steady drag along the cave floors, echoing off the hordes of treasure, mounds of gold coins and brilliant jewels and ivory encrusted plates of armor. The cave’s resident seemed nowhere to be found, no sight of tail or talon of the fantastical beast that lived there. There’d been stories of the dragon’s might and fierceness, of his taking kings or villagers away into the mountains, of his pillaging and burning. Eventually, the surrounding lands started sending consorts and sacrifices up to the caves, virginal young women and men all draped in gold chains and nothing else, who never returned. But that particular day, the prince arrived in the cave to claim some of the treasures-specifically, a huge opal orb that reflected a veritable rainbow in the light. With that, he hoped, he could earn the love of the princess, and in turn become king. The princess was secondary—a pleasant bonus to the real prize, the power and glory of becoming ruler. And imagine if he could slay the dragon; even the surrounding kings would worship the very ground he wal—  
  
All of a sudden, the mountains of wealth that surrounded him seemed to begin to tremble. The gold clattered faintly against itself as it moved, like so many grains of sand, slipping down the heaps in layers and layers. The prince whipped his sword up, ready to fight, planting his feet even as they were overtaken by the little coins; there must have been 160,000,000 florins in that room, alone. The ground under his feet shook, rhythmically almost, and there was a steady swooshing drag along the ground, like bone against the stone. Footsteps. Approaching footsteps.  
  
“Who’s there?” he called, holding his sword in his clammy hands. The whole passage was suddenly warm, consumed with a dry heat. “Who is that?” No response, but the footsteps continued to approach, and a shadow rounded the corner-somewhat fuzzy at the edges, but huge, and getting ever nearer, until the black swath of darkness covered the trembling prince, who slowly raised his eyes, afraid of what he’d see.  
  
And rightly so. Towering over him, with all of his height, his wings flared wide, was the dragon, just as terrified as he’d been warned. His long, sinister fangs still dripped with the blood of a fairly recent kill—the prince shuddered to wonder what had been his latest victim. One of his nostrils, which were billowing grey smoke in sheets, was the approximate size of the human’s head, to say nothing of his massive horns. He leaned down, his serpentine neck swiveling, and breathed in a big inhale of the man’s scent, the pull of the air so strong it drew the gold towards the beast. His scales were a dark crimson, deepening in colour as they got further along his long body, which was ridged by spines down his back. Between each scale seemed to run a trickle of lava, as though inside of the dragon’s body was a wealth of flame. The prince stared, the dragon’s multi-lidded, green eyes taking in his comparably small form. His lips curled away from his teeth, and flame crept up his throat, preparing to torch the man. The prince stumbled back, slipping on the coins, and as he wriggled back more overtook him, until he was swamped by the little gold pieces, the very thing he prized above all else now preventing his escape. The dragon seemed to grin, and in an instant, the cavern was consumed by flame, illuminating the last thing the prince saw-the oval orb, the sheen of the precious jewel burned (literally) into his mind in his final moments.


	2. Moonlit Meeting

  
It was cold outside, but Dean was warm deep in the twists and tunnels of his cavern. The light of the fire he’d lit worked its way down the open corridors as though it was the heart of the mountain itself, seeking the starlight of the night outside. Idly raking through the heaps of gold with his curved claws, he dumped handful after handful of glittering gold pieces into a trunk, adding massive gold pendants and small gems into the ornate wooden box. He added an ivory-handled knife and a black fur, sealing the box up with its buckles and toggles, and, bundling up in a bear skin he’d been working on softening up for a few days, carried it out of the expansive, twisting cave system he called home. When he made it to the craggy overlook, the best vantage point for miles around, he simply stepped off the rock outcropping, the bear skin fluttering to the ground as he took off.  
  
His wings caught an updraft, the translucent skin between long fingers of bone casting red-tinted light onto the ground underneath them. The air that high up was cold, colder than it was inside, by the fire, but flying always made his insides warm, the same way a stiff drink or a good looking, sweet smelling, willing omega tended to. He tucked his wings, spread them, cut a spiraling arc in the indigo night, as though he could bob and weave between stars. There was a path up ahead, a clearing, trails Dean could see from the sky criss-crossing the woods that bordered it. Without a second thought, he dropped, wings in, arms and legs tucked, tail steering him like he was a shooting star. Just for the sake of it, he turned onto his back, exhaling a stream of flame that he knew would make the village children scream and clap and point at the fiery star that fell from the sky. If only they knew what he really was.  
  
The landing was good. Well, decent. Dean hit the ground, rolling across the moss and grass with a laugh and a huff as he came to a stop. He rose, the ground under his feet somewhat scorched. His footprints left black earth and claw marks; the box, luckily, remained unharmed. His feet cooled as he walked, the prints they left lessening gradually in their severity until there was no trace of him. His wings were pinioned against his back now, and out of the box he drew the fur, wrapping it around his hips to cover his cock. It was just enough, soft and warm around him, the pin closure holding fast as he walked. It was dark out, but he could sigh out enough flame to let him see just as far as he needed to. The paths through the woods twisted and turned; Dean selected the less travelled ones, the ones uncertain travelers were more likely to get lost on. As the forest got deeper, though, the moonlight wasn’t enough, and Dean rifled through the foliage that surrounded the makeshift path to find a long, thick branch. He scooped it up, lighting the end of it with a breath, rounding back to the path. Which is when he saw it.  
  
In the shadows, an iridescent figure in the leaves. Dean furrowed his brows, stepping closer. The figure seemed to shiver, its lithe body covered in scales. He stooped beside the shape…the person...and scented the air. Under the smell of flame and ozone that Dean carried, was the smell of leaves and damp dirt, and under that…Omega. The sweet smell of paperwhite, warm and rich and making Dean’s head swim, but under it was the musky tang of dirt.  
  
“Hello?” he murmured. “Omega?” Silence. Dean reached for him; the figure lurched, seeming to slither away, sliding along the ground further into the brush.  
  
“Wait, wait, come back,” he coaxed. “Hey, where are you going? Omega?” He pursued him, knowing that up ahead, the forest butted up against a sheer wall of rock, rising out of the ground naturally, as though to divide the wilds from the human world. The being, the Omega, couldn’t go any further from there, and even if he flew he wouldn’t be able to get away from Dean. He pursued the Omega right through the forest, calling out, having left the trunk behind so he could run a little faster. The Omega moved fast, sliding on the ground, looking much like the mercury Dean had in bowls around his cave, shifting and swirling through the leaves, and Dean had to jog to keep up. He was an Alpha, after all, and Alphas didn’t ditch sweet smelling Omegas that easily. He could see the rock wall in the distance, mere moments away; he managed to pursue the Omega right up to it, the iridescent shape sliding up against the grey stone, it’s shape shifting to something more human. Dean could make out horns, branched like a young stag’s, protruding from a mop of black hair, and opalescent blue eyes shielded by thick black lashes. Behind him rose long wings, blue and shining, almost glittering in the moonlight, his arms and legs bearing smaller ones, like fins, surrounded by patches of scales that gradually petered out into pale skin. His nails ended in curving claws, his hands splayed flat against the wall on either side of his belly, which was slightly rounded, accounting for the warm milk smell Dean had found in his scent.  
  
“I’m not here to hurt you,” Dean assured him, hands raised, although between his claws and his sharp teeth and his curving ram’s horns, he didn’t exactly look like the gentle giant he professed to be. “I just want—“  
  
But before he could finish, the omega was gone, shooting straight up into the night sky. Dean blew smoke plumes out of his nostrils, beginning to get infuriated, the chase becoming less of an act of charity and more a competition. He ran up the wall, shifting and pursuing him. The Omega was quick, his body like an flying snake’s. He realized what he was now—an air dragon, unlike Dean, who’s realm was the earth, the mountains. It would explain the ease with which he weaved through the sky, Dean close behind, the Alpha larger, and thus slower, but still in pursuit. When Dean let out a burst of flame, careful not to hurt the other dragon, the Omega would respond with a puff of fog, dipping and veering, his long body and thin wings letting him maneuver with ease. It was a strain on Dean to keep up, much less to get ahead of him and corner him with any degree of effectiveness. By this time, he didn’t know what he wanted; to mate? to talk? or just to know he’d won? but he knew the omega wouldn’t get rid of him that easily.  


They chased each other all night, the sun rising before the Omega decided he was tired, and that he needed to land. As soon as he did, Dean couldn’t help a fiery sigh of relief, padding to his feet next to Cas by the side of a large lake, quickly shifting on touchdown.  
  
“You’re fuckin’ fast,” he huffed, panting. The Omega chuckled, faint blue blush colouring his cheeks.  
  
“I should hope so,” he agreed. “What sort of air dragon would I be, otherwise?” Dean smiled.  
  
“Not a bad point. Just tired me out, is all.”  
  
“Maybe you’d like some water,” the Omega offered. “I’ve got a skin right here…” He pulled a sash from the other side of his back, holding out the attached lambskin canteen to Dean.  
  
“Thanks,” he nodded. “How’d you get this to last the flight?”  
  
“It’s enchanted,” the Omega replied. “With a special jinx. The water is self-refilling, as well.” Dean laughed.  
  
“That’s some fancy shit you’ve got there…”  
  
“Castiel.”  
  
“Castiel.” Dean paused, taking a pull of the water. “Mind tellin’ me exactly why you were so quick to run, last night?” The Omega—Castiel—considered this.  
  
“Perhaps I just wasn’t interested.” Dean scoffed.  
  
“You ran out of there like I had a knife to your throat,” he replied. “You can be honest with me; if I scared you…”  
  
“My past experiences with Alphas haven’t been the greatest,” Castiel huffed, “if you must know.” Dean frowned.  
  
“That’s a shame,” he said. “Which Alphas?”  
  
“A few,” Castiel huffed. “Is it any business of yours?” Dean shrugged.  
  
“I’d like it to be. I’d like to get to know you a little better,” he said, smirking flirtatiously, revealing his teeth. “Maybe if you’d come back home with me…” Castiel raised a coy brow.  
  
“I’m afraid that’s something you have to earn,” he replied. “Why don’t you come back here and visit me at the same time tomorrow? With some food; perhaps a black stag?” Dean coughed softly, taken by surprise by the request.  
  
“Black stag it is,” he nodded, recovering. “I’ll see you at dawn.”  
  
“At dawn,” Castiel smiled. “Oh, I’m afraid I never caught your name.”  
  
“Dean,” he replied.  
  
“Dean,” Castiel repeated. “Well, Dean, I look forward to lunch.” Dean opened his mouth to reply, but by the time he could get a word out, the Omega had vanished, leaving Dean to consider how to find the elusive, almost mythical, black stag.


	3. The First Trial

If anyone could help Dean hunt down an animal that, more likely than not, didn’t exist, it was Bobby. Bobby lived deep inside of an old mine, surrounded by books and all manner of ancient lore. He made it over there before midday, thoroughly invested in finding the goddamn black stag for the Omega he’d suddenly become so invested in. He landed right outside of the old opening to the mineshaft, rolling his neck as he transitioned into his more human form.  
  
“Bobby!” he called. “Bobby, I need some help with som’m!”  
  
“Down here,” Bobby replied, voice echoing off the crystal minerals that protruded from the ceilings and walls. “Library.”  
  
“Surprise,” Dean grumbled, lighting the torches on the wall so he could see a bit better. He wandered down the twisting and turning corridors, tugging on the pants he’d brought along in a little leather bag (he had to figure out just what jinx had allowed Castiel to keep that sheepskin canteen). In the pit of the mines, in a huge open space, were heaps of books, pens and inkwells and heaps of loose parchment.  
  
“Bobby!” he repeated.  
  
“Back here!” his gruff voice replied, closer now, Dean following it into the middle of the chasm. Behind another superfluous stack of books, was the man of the hour, his skin patched by scales that shone a dull slate.  
  
“You busy?” Dean asked.  
  
“Depends on wha’cher after,” Bobby grumbled.  
  
“Black stag.” Bobby looked up, brow raised.  
  
“Busy,” he said. “But just on the off chance som’m opens up, what’re you after this stag for, boy?” He looked back to his book. “Wouldn’t be about an Omega?”  
  
“Oh, no. Nuh uh. No,” Dean dismissed, waving a hand. “No. I was just like, ya know, what if I decide to hunt down a forest animal that probably doesn’t exist? That’d be a nice time.”  
  
“Where’d you meet this Omega?” Bobby asked knowingly.  
  
“Doesn’t matter. He wants the stag by tomorrow.” Bobby sighed.  
  
“Well, ya can’t trap ‘im. And ya can’t go after ‘im. You gotta let ‘im come t’ you.”  
  
“Bobby, I ain’t got time to sit around waitin’ for some animal to waltz up to me,” Dean huffed. “There’s gotta be some other way.” Bobby shook his head.  
  
“Unless you got a virgin on hand. Virgins, you can lure ‘em with. Anyone else just gotta wait around until the stag picks ya.” Dean huffed.  
  
“Well, I’ve never been so unhappy to have gotten some,” he sighed. “So I just gotta sit in the woods?”  
  
“Yup. Or else, find a less picky Omega.”  
  
“Damn.” Dean muttered.  
  
“Yup.” Bobby didn’t look up from his book.  
  
“You at least know anything else on ‘em? On black stags?” Bobby shrugged.  
  
“Their antlers look real good over a fireplace, and their pelts make great blankets.” Dean ran a hand down his face.  
  
“Do I know how to pick ‘em, or what?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“Say that one more time—“  
  
“Dean, if you wanna find this thing you oughta hit the road. Head up to the Signal Mountains and set up shop in the alpine forest. You wander ‘round enough, you're bound to run into it. Wash before you go. Keep any noise down. Don’t wear clothes; they got a real keen sense ‘a smell, they'll know you're coming miles before you can even see ya. These stags, they ain't like any other animal you've ever hunted. You gotta be real careful.” Dean nodded.  
  
“Thanks, Boss. I’ll let you know how it goes.” Bobby looked up.  
  
“I expect a good cut ‘a the meat, too. Now get, you’re losin’ daylight.” Dean smiled, waving a hand.  
  
“Sure, thanks,” he agreed, already running out of the shaft.

  
~*~  


All washed clean and naked, Dean flew to the foot of the Signal Mountains, a range of high peaks, some of the highest and coldest in the area, and started the trek up. It was already getting a bit chilly, even at the foothills, but he figured that if clothes were off limits, so was using his fire to keep himself comfortable. All he had on him was a thin knife and a strand of rope, to kill and tie up his quarry. He walked, and walked, and walked, seemingly forever, following a stream that meandered down the mountain to spill into a huge, deep waterfall. The climb was long enough that about halfway up, he paused to catch fish, and debone them, before eating them raw in one rather unattractive swallow. He deserved it, he figured, if he was going to be wandering around the woods after this fucking deer all the livelong day. The forests were dense, and filled with little sounds, the chirrups and croons of birds and the rustling of wind, all just distant enough to catch Dean’s attention. He was pulled a million different ways; towards the snap of a twig over here, a noise over there, a new scent carried on a breeze from somewhere behind him. Endeavouring to close his senses from the stimuli that tempted him, he forged on, picking an arbitrary path and making his way up towards the mountain’s peak. He knew hunting the deer would prove futile; the lore said that the deer had to find you, it had to seek you out because of something within you it could sense, purity or faith or whatever. Dean never bought it, but hell, the omega was good looking and young and if he had even a shot at mating him, he'd take it. 

It was cold on top of the mountain; Dean folded his arms in on himself, wings wrapped around his body, shrouded in the meager warmth they provided. He kept to the dirt paths, where crunching leaves wouldn't give him away, knife strapped to his calf, length of rope in his hand. He'd scent the air every so often, nose in the air, nostrils flaring, but never once picked up on anything remarkable. He hardly knew what he was after; only that he'd know it when he found it. 

And he did. By the time he found the stag, it was late; late enough for the sun to come streaming through the leaves, descending to the west of the mountaintop, making him question if he'd make his dawn meeting. The black deer stood still in a clearing, drinking from a cool stream, its pelt covered with a sheen of sweat and shine. Dean took his knife from where it was strapped to his calf and made his approach, quiet and slow. The stag lifted its head, antlers a complex branching structure of bone and soft velvet, and looked at Dean, who shifted his grip on the blade of the knife and stared back. The creature lifted a cloven foot and Dean prepared to pursue, but rather than run the other way it approached him, slow and graceful, small bobbed tail twitching and flicking. When it was in arm’s reach, it exhaled, then snorted, and turned, showing Dean it's side. The alpha was almost disbelieving; his face blanked for a moment, slack in surprise. He just stood there, still as the trees around him, as the deer bared its most vulnerable spot to him. Shifting his knife again, he poised it, ready to deliver a quick, humane blow right over its kidney. The deer huffed, as though impatient, tossing its antlers harmlessly, and Dean took the gesture as a sign, and slid the knife in easily. Shining dark eyes turned to him, then closed, and the deer fell without a fight. 

Something about the way the stag had given itself over made it seem all the more regal, worthy of being treated with utmost respect and care, so he carried it down the mountain, through the woods, all the way through the plains and around the village to get to his home. The first thing he did when he got to the cave was skin the animal, bringing its pelt off in one long sheet of hide. He took the antlers off, and set them aside; he'd scrape the velvet off and leave it with the human village’s medicine woman, as it'd do her more good than it would him. The bones he boiled down into a stock, and saved the marrow to make a jam for the next day’s lunch. The roughest cuts of the meat, he set aside, and the second best he wrapped in thin cheesecloth and set aside for Bobby. The best pieces, he took his sweet time on. He marinaded them in a mix of blood and wine, and rubbed them down with spices. While they soaked, he cleaned the skin, washing it in a little underground stream of water that ran through the back of his cave, then stretched it over a fire, and burrowed deep within the systems of his cave to spend the night. 

  
~*~  


It was difficult for Dean, deep in the chambers of his cave, to know when dawn was close. Usually, he had no reason to be up at a certain time; unless he meant to meet Sam, and then, his brother would come by and track him to wherever he wound up within his massive home, nagging and nudging until the sleeping Alpha came around. But this time, Dean was on his own, and it was a lucky break that his frayed and frazzled nerves kept him up. After dressing in skins, mainly to save his ass if he popped a knot during their early breakfast, he made it to their meeting spot well before Cas, with plenty of time to start a small fire and set up the venison to grill, (and, coincidentally, plenty of time to panic). What if he'd done something unsatisfactory to the stag, and Cas would be upset? What if he'd missed him? What if he'd come to the wrong place? And anyway, when did he start calling him Cas? He paced and paced, occupying his hands by shaking the vinaigrette he'd made, (Cas seemed like a salad type) until a beating of wings and an influx of scent made him turn. 

“I'm afraid I forgot where we were meant to meet,” Castiel laughed. “I only found my way here by the smell of the food.” Dean smiled in greeting. 

“I hope that's a good thing,” he said, setting the vinaigrette down to exchange it for the folded up stag’s hide. “Brought you this. It'll need a little more working to soften it up nice, and I can handle that for ya if you'd like. But it's yours.” Castiel smiled at him, and it seemed earnest.

“A lovely gesture. Thank you, Dean.” Dean half smiled and shrugged. 

“I wanted to do it. I try to use every part of my kills; out of respect to the animal, and all.” He looked to the fire, where the venison was looking near ready. 

“You hungry?” 

“Famished.” He walked over to the fire, feet obscured by the tall grass, and sat down on a stone Dean had dragged over from the lake’s shore. Now that Cas had arrived, Dean felt he could be a little more at ease, looking around and taking in their meeting place. At dawn the day before, the area had been so obscured by darkness neither of them were able to see a thing. Now, however, with the fire’s glow and the sun just that much higher in the sky, he could make out a ring of trees, ones with thick branches and big, broad leaves, encircling a large, clear lake, the water lapping steadily at the shore. Dean sat down on a tree stump, reaching into his bag to pull out a loaf of fresh bread, marrow jam, and a bowl of greens wrapped in cheesecloth, setting them out on the wood-hewn tray with plenty of ornate stone plates and bringing them over to Cas, who gave him a fanged smile.

“This looks lovely, Dean. Thank you.”

“It was nothing, Cas,” Dean dismissed, fighting a blush. “I’ll carve up the venison. You sit tight.” He knelt beside the fire, reaching right into the licking flames and moving the venison to a stone platter. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Castiel said from his seat, blue scales glinting duochrome silver in the light of the flame. Dean chuckled. 

“It’s some party trick,” he agreed. “Air dragons got a couple neat tricks they can do, though, ain’t that right?” Cas shrugged. 

“We can shift phases, yes...and where fire dragons breathe flame, we breathe fog, which is handy for evading detection.” Dean raised an eyebrow, offering Cas a plate of venison. 

“Shift phases?” Cas accepted the plate with a quiet thank you, smiling, then nodded. 

“I can change the phase of matter of my body to allow me to move through objects,” he explained, matter of factly, tearing off a bit of his venison and putting the piece in his mouth. 

“That’s awesome, dude. I’d much rather do that crazy phase thing than be able to touch fire,” Dean replied. “Guess we play the cards we’re dealt, huh?” Castiel smiled. 

“We do.” He took another bite of the meat, and hummed approvingly. “This is excellent, Dean. How was the hunt?” Dean shrugged. 

“Not bad. Not as hard as I thought, if I’m honest,” he replied, sweeping a piece of bread through the ju on his plate. “He just sort of...came over to me, up on top of Signal Mountain, and let me take what I needed.” Now it was Cas’ turn to raise his brows. 

“That easy, hm?”

“That easy.”

“Are you a virgin?” Dean laughed, mostly to conceal the flush that rose on his cheeks. 

“What do you think?” Castiel smirked. 

“I asked you first,” he replied surely. Dean shrugged. 

Fair.

“No. I’m not a virgin.” After a brief pause, he asked, “Why? Unless you’re...ya know. Interested in that part of my life.” Castiel rolled his eyes.

“You alphas are all the same,” he teased harmlessly. “I ask because black stags are drawn to virgins, but also to those who are pure and patient. Since the stag was drawn to you, it indicates you hold at least one of those qualities, and considering you’re not a virgin--for obvious reasons…” Dean almost guffawed. 

“Obvious reasons? What reasons?” Castiel shrugged, spreading marrow jam onto his bread. 

“You know you’re not bad looking. And you know you have a certain charm. In fact, in the event that you meet the requirements of my next test, I’d be very happy to be your mate.” Dean shifted, as though he was struck by a cold chill, almost able to overlook the mention of passing a test. Almost. 

“So that was a test? The stag was a test?”

“Well, of course. Unless you honestly thought I was that specific about my diet?” Dean’s cheeks reddened, his scales illuminated from within with lava-esque glow. 

“I didn’t think too much of it, honestly,” he muttered softly. “I just wanted to...you know, have a shot at seeing you again. That was my priority.” Castiel smiled, and matched his flush with a blue one of his own. 

“I’m flattered, Dean.”  
  
The night passes with the two of them laughing and blushing and teasing, and the food quickly vanishing, and right before Cas leaves, swaddled in his stag hide in the night of the early morning, he says, “Before I can become your mate, Dean, I need you to pass one final test. Certainly you’ve heard of the Beast of the Shade?” Dean nodded. The Beast of the Shade, unlike the black stag, was known to exist; mainly because of the scores and scores of innocents it had killed. It was a huge animal, like a bear but wider, with little round horns and armored plates all over it’s back. 

“Yeah. Uh, yeah.” 

“Good,” Castiel nodded. “I need it’s head.” Dean’s jaw dropped. 

“Cas, you can’t be serious,” he said simply. “That thing is unkillable. Thousands and thousands of people have battled it and it’s bested each and every one.”

“You’ve never fought it,” Cas said, “you could be all it takes. I’ll see you this time tomorrow, with the Beast’s head.”  
  



	4. The Second Trial

  
It didn’t seem as though there was a way around it. As soon as Dean left, he headed, instantly, to hunt down his close friend, Benny Lafitte. If anyone would have a weapon that could help him take care of the Beast, it would be Benny. He was an excellent hunter, and always equipped with something new and special; an enchanted sword, a special sword or crossbow, and what was more, he was quite liberal with lending his weapons to his friends, and Dean was glad to be one of them.

The other alpha lived in the swamps, clear on the other side of the world from the Valley of Shade, where Dean’s quarry made it’s terrifying home. If he wanted to make it from one to the other with time to stalk the Beast, he’d have to be quick, and being quick meant flying fast. He zeroed in on his bayou shack as he flew through the air, diving straight for it, landing in the swamp with a great fizzling sound as he plonked into the water, steam rising from the heat of his skin mixed with the cool of the water. 

“Benny!” he called as he dragged himself out of the water. “Benny, I need help, Quick.” Reliably, the man came running out, red scales flashing in the light, red blood close to the surface of his skin. 

“What is it, brother?” he asked, unidentifiable twang thick in his voice. 

“I gotta kill the Beast of the Shade. Yes, it’s for an omega, yes, it’s stupid, I don’t have time to debate the pros and cons,” he rattled off quickly. 

“I got just the thing for you. Wait here,” Benny agreed, not questioning Dean’s desperation. He vanishes inside for a moment, then returns with a huge sword clutched in his clawed hand. “Focus on the underside. You want a slice, not a stab. Now, go on.” Dean nodded. 

“Thanks,” he agreed, then, unceremoniously, shifted and shot straight into the air, soaking his friend with swamp water.  
  
Dean may have been in a rush, but he wasn’t stupid. Instead of facing off with the Beast instantly, he ducked into a nearby cave on the steep sides of the valley to go through his arms, shifting forms again and looking over what his friend had given him. The sword was huge, and when he put it in his hand it warmed. Clever Benny, he thought, smirking. A hot knife might not cause the most bleeding, but it would definitely make for a sizable shock to the Beast’s system. Hauling the sword, he climbed along the sloping side of the valley, eyes scanning the lowest part for the lumbering monster. 

  
~*~  


He didn’t have to look for long; the animal revealed itself to him, charging out of a concealed cave as though appearing from thin air. It bowled him down the entire mountainside, winding him up flat on his back, panting and bruised and damaged, but not yet giving up. As it ran at him for another charge, Dean got a good long look; its eyes were flashing crimson red, it’s body reptilian despite it’s buffalo-esque build and sharp horns. As though entranced, he stared, until he felt the puff of hot breath pour through the Beast’s nose. Jolting, he heard his outstretched arm crunch under the Beast’s heavy foot, making him scream, the limb flattened, even once the monster had moved to terrorise another part of his body. 

But he had enough awareness to close his good hand around his sword and hold it tight, dragging a slash under the animal’s belly. Like a floodgate opening, he was suddenly covered in gore, blood and viscera all over his body. He coughed and spluttered, managing a “Gods, thanks,” and rolling hastily to one side. It hit him, lying there covered in guts and with the beast calling balefully over him, that this was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done for a single omega, in his life (which, he also thought, may not have that much longer left in it.) He rolled out of the way just before the animal collapsed, fangs out over its lower jaw, Dean’s shattered arm held to his chest by his good one. With a huff, pushed by his rage, he released his good arm, grabbed the sword, and pulled it overhead, bringing it down hard on the Beast’s neck. It took two swings to get the heavy extremity off, but as soon as it was gone he hefted it up and took off, even though his arm was bleeding, even though every one of his nerves screamed in pain. 

  
~*~  


The few hours left in his day were devoted to fixing up the head; Cas wanted it, and for all Dean’s effort, he was going to get it. He hollowed out the entire skull, filled it with dry grass and wood shavings, and mounted it on an immaculate wood board, managing to finish moments before he’d have to arrive at the spot he’d come to know as his and Cas’. 

When he arrived, the omega was there, waiting. He was dressed beautifully, in shimmering fabrics, beautiful robes leaving just a sliver of silver-blue skin open to Dean’s eyes. His eyes were stunning against the dark; maybe it was the endorphins coursing through him, but the second he spotted him he was overtaken by his beauty. The second Cas spotted him, however, carrying a trunk with the head inside and dressed in chain mail and his scabbard, what he noticed was his arm. It was wrapped in a sling, tucked close to his body, blood spotting the cloth. Cas came over instantly, taking the limb in his hand, brows furrowed. 

“Uh, hello to you too, Cas,” he muttered. 

“Are you okay?” the omega asked instead. Dean chuckled. 

“My arm’s down for the count, but apart from that, I’m in okay shape,” he shrugged. “Brought you your head--”

“Dean, the head will wait. Have you seen someone for this?”

“No, Cas, I...it’s fine.” But the omega was tugging him, in such an un-omega-like way, to sit on a log with his arm in Cas’ lap. “Okay, as much as I’ve been looking forward to this…”

“I’m going to dress your wound. I’m a trained healer in my community,” he said certainly, pulling up his bag, applying a salve from a small porcelain pot. Almost instantly, the pain vanished, and Dean sighed. “How’d you do that, Cas?”

“Magic,” he said coyly. “I’ll work on it. Does anything else hurt?” Dean smirked a little. 

“Now that you mention it, I took a bit of a tumble while I was dealing with the Beast...my, uh, my face…” Cas chuckled and raised a hand, brushing his fingers along his cheekbone. The touch was soft, and it urged Dean’s eyes to close and his face to lean towards those fingertips.

“Here?” Dean hummed.

“Lower.”

“How much lower?” Castiel asked innocently. Dean shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Let’s take it one step at a time.”

Cas’ lips quirked slightly, and he dropped his hand slightly to trace his fingertips gingerly over Dean’s lips before leaning in to press his lips there instead, mouth merging softly against Dean’s. Dean smiled softly, his good arm sliding up his back to rub at the topmost knob of his spine, over smooth scales and expanses of blue-ish speckled skin. Cas almost seemed to purr, oddly enough, parting his lips slightly so as to nip at Dean’s lower lip. The gesture, small though it was, egged Dean on, and he let his teeth, sharp and neat, drag along his lower lip. Cas made a soft noise, then, like a tiny moan that made Dean feel a lot less innocent than he’d wanted to come in feeling like. He slid his hand down Cas’ side, letting his nails drag against his skin, maneuvering him into his lap with the one hand he had available to him. Cas shivered, biting a little more forcefully on Dean’s bottom lip, near drawing blood as he tugged on it teasingly. It seemed like such an unusual thing for the classic omega to do, and with every moment it became more and more clear to him that Cas was an unusual little omega. The air hung thick with pheromones; Dean could feel them in his brain, he could feel them in his senses, somehow fogging and sharpening them at once.

“Dean,” Cas breathed softly against Dean’s lips, shivering at the rush of pheromones flooding the whole clearing, infecting his own senses. His hips rocked suddenly, weakly, his control out of his hands. Dean made a little noise, almost involuntary, against his mouth, pulling their bodies flush as they shifted together, skin on scale, warm on cool. Cas moaned again, weakly, but this time “Alpha…” slipped from his mouth, and the effect was immediate on Dean’s body, spearing something desperate and hot right through Dean’s whole body, leaving him more impatient than he’d ever been in his life for this silly, strange, undeniably sexy little omega. He could feel the omega’s impatience, too, slick and hot against his thigh where his hips rocked. With his hand, Dean nudged his legs apart, and coaxed him up to straddle Dean’s hips, where his length was flooding with heat.

“Oh, Alpha,” Cas crooned weakly, flushed, practically leaking his own slick. “Want you, Alpha.” Dean shivered, his hand sliding down to the firm globes of Cas’ backside, pulling them even closer. 

“Shh, little omega,” he soothed, moving his lips down to Cas’ jaw. “I’ll give you what you need, honey. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Fuck me, Dean,” Cas demanded in a breathless pant, rubbing desperately against Dean’s thigh. “Breed me, Alpha, need you inside me.”

Dean couldn’t move fast enough. He picked Cas up, the omega helping him as he lifted up to sink down on him. Given that Cas was an odd little omega, Dean had the sneaking suspicion he might like to be in control; or at least, to feel like he was. 

Cas shuddered, head falling back, letting out a whine that seemed to mix with a gutteral growl. “Alpha,” he begged desperately, squirming and bucking his hips. “Ohnnghh-- fuck-- fuck me, Alpha, breed me up--” Dean groaned, and pressed his hips up and forward, up and forward, filling hs omega just the way he pled so desperately for. 

“Harder, oh-oh-oh, need more,” Cas demanded, breathless, hips bouncing eagerly. Dean wrapped his arm around his waist, holding as strong and as hard as he could, picking Cas up and dropping him back on his length, his teeth dragging along Cas’ skin, his knot forming already. “Shit, oh shit,” Cas whined, head falling back again, body shaking with each drop of his body onto Dean’s cock, tight and warm and clenching earnestly around Dean.

Dean hardly spoke, not wanting to miss a single one of Cas’ whining demands, silent apart from curses and groans. The loudest one came when he finally caught, knot sliding inside Cas’ body before catching on his rim. Cas practically yowled, and then he was coming too, bouncing erratically on Dean’s cock as he rode out his orgasm atop Dean’s, practically sobbing noises of eager relief as Dean’s knot tied them together in a mess of sweat and come.

They panted together, Dean’s forehead resting against the base of Cas’ neck, face covered in a thin sheen of sweat. 

“You damn sure made me earn that,” he laughed breathlessly. Cas chuckled breathlessly. 

“I hope I was worth it.”

“You were more than worth it,” Dean nodded. “Guess I passed your tests?”

“You exceeded my tests,” the omega smiled. “I’m so happy to be yours, Dean. The next time we’re together, I’d be more than happy if you mated me.” Dean sighed, softly, the sound containing volumes of relief. 

“Good,” he murmured. “Let’s make it soon.” Dean laced their hands. 

“Very soon,” Cas nodded. “Take me home, Dean.” 

“With pleasure, Cas,” Dean agreed, and as soon as they could move, he scooped Cas’ body up and shot into the air, letting him sleep off the night’s activities as they soared, over the swamps and the mineshafts and the Valley of Shade, past Signal Mountain, home again.  



End file.
